Eternity In An Hour
by Keadie
Summary: Cursed to exist in a wasteland of sand and grey, Harry succumbs to the bitter taste of his new reality. But he is found and saved, brought forth to meet his new destiny. A tale of love, pride, and fallen wings.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

"To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And _eternity in an hour._"

It seemed as if the sky was waging war upon the ground: the clouds unfurling at a deathly rate, black and ominous as the piercing lightning struck blow after blow upon the dry cracked earth. Sheets of rain poured down, let loose from the heavens, washing away the grim and leaves that clung to my face; washing away the blood that seeped down my ribcage, bleeding into the mud like ink. I merely blinked. The pain I knew should have been racking my body into fits of hysteria was seemingly nonexistent; erased, as though it were merely a drawing, etched out and forgotten. My limbs had lost all feeling, missing the cool sensation of wet droplets on tired skin that I remembered so vividly. The skin on my face ate at the sensation, realized the nerves were reacting, that I was alive! Yet, my body had already accepted the inevitable. Tears slide down my bruised cheeks. Or was that the rain? I no longer knew.

* * *

I awoke gasping, sucking air into my lungs like a drowning victim. Dead. _Dead. _I was dead. I remembered; the cold touch, almost like a hand, gripping, _pulling—_ was that my soul I felt torn from my body? I could feel the emptiness inside of me, the hallow center where something was missing. I could feel it _bleeding_ in agony...Gods, what was happening to me?

I staggered to my feet, the sand uneven between my toes. I glanced around hurriedly, trembling under the weight of my dead limbs. Grey. That was all I saw. Grey. _Grey. _Where were the green hills, sprinkled with yellow flowers? The spruce trees, brimming with leaves? My legs could no longer hold the weight of my reality, and I crashed knees, sand cutting into my skin. Pain.

Alive. I was _alive. _But... the battle. I can still feel the bite of the sword as it sliced through my chest. I reached for it, desperate to find some hint of the wound, but found only cold barren skin, the aching emptiness still apparent.

"What is this madness...?"

There was no sun.

There was no color, no wind. There was no life. There was_ nothing_.

Just sand and eternity.

I stared at the heavens for hours, pretending the grey mass that had eaten away my world were clouds. Just clouds. Pretending was all I could muster. I pretended I had the strength to walk, the courage to push on, to find a way out of this wasteland, to _live_. But, I was dead...wasn't I? So what was the point?

There was nothing.

Just sand and eternity.

* * *

I must have lain there for days. The aching emptiness that had festered in my chest had washed through my other limbs. I was as cold as death. The silence called to me—as still and immovable as my heart, entombed within my ribcage to beat no longer.

I had lost all hope that this was dream. That this was a temporary insanity, a cruel phantom. This was my life. And my death. This was my eternity. The cold ground welcomed me, forming inlets to fit my body, the sand clinging to my extremities.

I was a shadow of life, a shade. Able to feel pain, sorrow, _defeat_, but never the warmth of another. I was a captive here; a prisoner in a land of nothing. Did anyone deserve such a fate?

I was left alone to the memories here. And they ate at me, consuming my thoughts until I could think of nothing else, _see_ nothing else.

So many dead. _Oh gods_, so many dead.

I quickly shut my eyes, effectively shutting out my demons...but I knew it was only for the moment. They had all of time. A hoarse cry escaped my lips. Was this to be my punishment? But for what! God Almighty, for _what_?

I screamed into the silence. Were my sins on earth so great that this, _this_ was my price to pay? Alone for...

Footsteps distracted me from my thoughts.

_Footsteps_.

Surely those were footsteps I heard, like gunshots in the sand. Noise in the endless silence. Or was I just pretending?

They came closer, nearer and nearer to my sullen form.

I kept my eyes shut tightly, savoring the darkness, not wanting to shatter the illusion. I could almost feel the individual grains of sand moving under a weight...a person?

Finally the noise stopped, just behind my head, and silence fell once more. Was this another phantom? A figment? Was I still alone in this barren void? I held my breathe, _hope_ brimming under my skin like a virus, sickly and weak, but still _there. _

"_Are you alright?"_

My breathe let out in one long hurried stream, and the hope expanded, bursting from my skin as it was enforced, as it was verified. Someone was here. Someone was _here_. Emotions, long unused, dusty and soot-bearing, uncurled in my stomach seeking an outlet. They washed through my limbs, like a stream, trickling at first until it grew larger, and larger—a river, a _tidal wave—_ And my lips curled into a smile.

"Can you hear me?" A man. His tenor was like _honey_, dripping down into my ears, succulent and delicious.

"I—" My voice shook. I could scarcely think. _Someone was__here_. "Yes."

"Why do you close your eyes?"

"Are you...is this real?" Was I not dead? Alive? _Alive_? Was it such an outrageous thought?

"Is_ that _what you fear?...Open your eyes, little one, and see for yourself."

And the hope was back, crushing me, suffocating me with its need to _see_... And I did not fight it. My eyelids creaked open, as though I had not used them for years, and my irises were slowly revealed. Squinting, they fought against hours (weeks, _months_) of abandon, trying to discern something, _anything_, that would prove that _yes, someone was here_.

Finally, they focused.

And he was _exquisite_.

His hair the deepest ebony, like midnight's break across the heavens. His cheekbones as high as mountains, cutting through his skin. His lips were full, a feminine feature, but any such affect was sustained by his broad chin. His jaw was chiseled from the finest marble, stolen off an ancient Greek statue. But his eyes...they were _flames_, roaring across his face. The deepest red, like rubies in the night. And they **bled** into mine.

He was color.

Simply enough.

_Color_.

And I wept for joy.

* * *

"How did you come to be here, little one?"

"I...I don't know...I died..._Surely_, that is what happened." Sadness threatened to take hold at the thought, but joy held firm. _Someone was here_.

"I did not mean to give you cause to remember," he said, kneeling before me, his lips twitching in apology. "I merely wished to know how you made it to this plane. Did no one come to guide you?...Have you been lost, little one?"

I stared. Surprise apparent on my face. Yes. Yes. _Yes_. By the gods, I have been lost. Nothing but sand and grey. This _godforsaken _**grey!** To the ends of eternity...

"...Yes, I have been lost," I rasped, my voice heavy with emotion.

I slowly lifted my hand. It was heavy and limp from disuse, but I had to know...Even if this was a dream.

I hovered, my fingertips a hairsbreadth away from his cheek.

He glanced at my pale hand. It was trembling wildly, but still had yet to touch his skin. How I wanted to...to know! But, the fear of dispelling the illusion...

Understanding dawned, and he finally smiled, his eyes crinkling as the mirth spread across his face, flames roaring in delight. Pointedly staring at me, he nudged his cheek into my palm.

And I wept for joy.

* * *

**a/n: **The excerpt at the start of the chapter is from William Blake's _Auguries of Innocence_. If anyone thinks this story sounds familiar, it was, originally, posted under a different genre, but I lost all my creative juices with the characters. But then, along came this pairing, and voila, inspiration. I do have the next chapter basically written, but I'm quite a slow writer, so..._bear with me_.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"God appears, and God is light,

To those poor souls who dwell in night.

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day."

I sat up. As I completed the movement, I never let my eyes stray, certain that the object of my gaze would disappear from my sight should it wander. However assured the sensation of his skin had made me, I could not bring my self to trust the feeling. I was determined not to lose this...this _gift_. Even if it was merely an illusion.

We were both kneeling now, facing each other. The sand digging into my knees.

...

He was glowing.

I had not noticed at first. Too busy attempting to re-acclimate myself to the notion that _I was not alone_; but now, I drank it in. It was not an avid glow, hovering just above his skin, as though he was blanketed in light. Somehow...billowing. Much in the way the air appears over a roaring fire, it rippled, refracting in undeniable beauty.

And I did not mind.

Perhaps it was this place. How could anything seem strange in a wasteland, such as this? Perhaps it was that I was dead. Or perhaps it was that nothing quite so magical could make me feel anything but amazement. _Fascination._

"Who are you?" I was in a daze. Too many of my senses were being rekindled at once. Everything about this man was throwing me off balance. Overloaded. I was overloaded. I had been flung so quickly from gut-wrenching despair to unfathomable joy. Now confusion, captivation, _wonder._ And...curiosity. "**What** are you?"

He did not answer with any sort of depth, or explanation. Or perhaps he did, and it was merely that I did not understand. He simply looked at me, his crimson eyes bleeding into mine, and stated,

"I am Voldemort."

_And the sands shifted. _

* * *

"Forgive me," He said quickly, as the ground calmed, settling back to its barren stillness. "I know well enough not to use that name here. I wasn't thinking...You may call me...Tom." His gaze tightened, and he looked away for an instant, frowning. "_Although, no one has called me that name in a very long time_._" _It was whispered. A secret. But he continued before I could ask what he meant. "I am (his)..." He shifted his jaw, his tongue attempting to find the right word "—right hand, in a sense. The most beloved of all (his) children."

"His?"

He shook his head, the rippling effect moving with him. "It is unwise to speak of it further here." He stood, no evidence in his clothing that he had been kneeling for any length of time. "To speak his name would move more than just the sands." He held his hand out to me, palm up, light billowing. "Come. We should not linger here."

_What was he_? The phrase repeated, like a mantra, in my head. My full attention was captured. I was _enamored_.

And curiosity won.

* * *

Tom lead me by the hand, the simple touch enough to make me complacent, trusting anything this man would have me do simply because he was _touching _me.

I suppose with death came a stillness; a "lack of_"_ as barren as this wasteland. My skin was cold, my neurons missing that delicious sensation of life_. _But...his palm was warm; it quite literally _burned,_ my hand reeling at the sensation, reddened by the intense heat.

I could only clutch tighter.

He glanced at me, lips twitching in a smile, and I was lost all over, the sweeping reds of his eyes licking at my gaze. "Be calm, little one. I won't disappear."

This at last made me duck my head, color exploding on my cheeks. _Ashamed. _"I...I did not mean to be rude. It's just-" Hesitantly, I raised my head, "I never thought I would see anyone again. And..." I looked towards our hands, his a deep contrast to the lifeless grey sand, golden skin oozing life. "I can't help but feel...that you won't last. That god is taunting me..."

Sinking further into the sand, he stopped walking, hunching his back to lower his head to my level. He grasped my face in both his hands, the heat of his palms a welcome change to the apathetic hollowness of the void. "I promise you. This is real." Of their own accord, as though tugged by an invisible cord, my hands reached up to clutch at his wrists, sinking into his touch. _It felt like home_.

"...Okay," I said softly, my eyes slipping shut as I basked in his warmth. "I will...endeavor to believe you." He grasped my cheeks tighter in response. His smile, however, was evident with his next words.

"What is your name?"

"...Harry," I whispered.

"_Harry_." He breathed my name, his tongue rolling, trying out the sounds. "I have never met a soul like you," he said, leaning forward to rest his forehead on mine. I jumped, startled at the sudden contact. "You're so..._alive_...How is that possible?" He murmured the question to himself, furrowing his brows as he grasped for the answer. "I feel...connected to you." He spoke quietly, breathing on my face. "As though there is a tether between us, tying us together. I cannot...I cannot stop touching you." He opened his eyes, seeming to notice our position, and quickly stepped away. "—Forgive me! I did not mean—"

I grasped at his hands to stop him from letting go. "—No! No, I...I feel it too. As though I have not lived. For twenty years, I walked the Earth, and never truly _saw_ anyone. But here, in death, with you—I feel it too. I cannot describe it. It is as though, only now...I am waking up."

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" My voice was still raspy, my throat hoarse. I must have screamed for days...

He paused, glancing at me. "You should not be here. Someone should have come, and shown you the way—_helped you_ to move on. You should not have been left here, in this...place. It is unfit for souls. I would not wish it on any man. But you...how long have you been here, Harry?" His thumb was stroking my fingers, coaxing me to speak.

"I don't know," I admitted, glancing at my feet, watching the sand as we walked. "I...Time seems different here. It seems as though I have been here for a thousand lifetimes, and yet...just yesterday, surely was when-" My hand rose to grasp at my chest, the ghost of a wound aching above the hallow cavity. "I could not say..."

"But," I said, squeezing his hand tighter, my eyes rising to capture his gaze, "I am happy you have come. You cannot imagine..." A smile broke out over my lips.

He was looking at me with such emotion, I caught my breath. It was wistful, curious, _amazed._ "You're humanity," He murmured, "It is...intoxicating." He seemed to catch himself, and quickly turned away. "I only mean...I have seen others in this land. They wander, listless, unseeing, so _apathetic _and _barren_." They were harsh sounds against his lips, like swear words as he spat them out. "A phantom of life. But... those are demons, _fallen_. Cursed to roam here for their crimes in this middle realm that holds nothing and everything. But you, a_ soul_—" He glanced at me now (_confusion, wonder)._

Before I could respond, he was walking forward again, gesturing to something ahead of us. "This is it."

I forced my eyes away from him, still befuddled from his gaze, and took in what he was motioning to.

We were approaching an Ash tree. A white Ash tree that had the same eerie glow as Tom's skin. It stood out from the monochromatic environment like a beacon, like a lighthouse to lost ships _(and how had I not seen it...?)_ But more than that, it was _enormous._ Its base stretched outward at least twenty feet, but it's length...It had no end. It _stretched _and _stretched_ and _stretched_, only to disappear into the heavens, running through the sky with it's glowing white branches. And it's roots...were non-existent. The ground fell away a few feet from the tree, dropping into nothing. It had no culmination on either side. It merely continued into the ground, with more leaves and branches, _stretching _and _stretching_—

"_What is this place_?"

"This is _Yggdrasil_, Harry. The world tree that extends through all the realms. It's the only thing that connects the worlds, and the only way to travel for a soul." A soul. He kept saying that. _A soul_. Was he not a soul as well? What _**was **_he?

He approached it, not sparing a glance towards the eerie void in the ground, and reached boldly towards the tree.

He hesitated, one hand on a white branch, before he turned to face me again. "You must not look down. I don't know if it is the same for souls, but...people lose themselves when they gaze at too many realms at once. It often does not...end well." He blinked, as though his summary was insufficient. "Just...close your eyes if you must."

With that, he grasped more firmly to the thick branch and swung himself up, into the tree. He climbed three branches with ease—feet naturally finding notches to seat themselves—before twisting to look at me. He was smiling, white teeth matching the bark, the glow of the tree wrapping around him like an old friend, lighting up his face.

"Come, Harry. It is easy."

I walked the first steps until the ground feel away. There was an odd light coming from the opening, much like the blazing of the sun. I pointedly raised my eyes to focus on the wrinkled bark of the tree, Tom's words still fresh in my ears, and grasped a limb.

* * *

We must have been climbing for an hour before we reached the top (_we went through the heavens)._ Here, the branches were thinner, but they remained firm, unmoving under our weight. The light was becoming almost unbearable to look at, blinding me to everything but the bark under my hands. I could swear Yggdrasil was singing, a delicious hum that vibrated against my fingertips.

I blindly reached upwards, hands grasping for the next limb, but found only air.

"_We're here, Harry_." His voice came from my right. I turned towards it, blinking, my retinas straining against the influx of light, until they adjusted.

And I saw..._beauty._

* * *

If ever I had looked at beauty, it was today. And yet...no one word could be applied so liberally to the scene before me. Perfection, perhaps. But it was something more. An intangibility that to speak of was to love, and to behold was to be _lost. _Every other memory paled in comparison to such a sight. It was white, of the purest kind. It blazed brightly, and should have burned my eyes, but I found found only solace, warmth—_peace_—in its light.

It was rather like the world I missed so deeply. There were fields of grass, long and golden. Trees were sprinkled amongst them, cradling fruit like rubies as they sagged under their weight, their crimson shining like Tom's eyes. And there were _people_. They were further along, a hazy picture in the distance, but they were here, glowing as Tom did. There were _people. _Buildings littered the horizon, glimmering like silver. They looked like jewels, jutting into the sky, but through their shimmering walls I could see more faces—_people. _They appeared to be made out of glass, reflecting and enhancing the white that seemed to pour from the earth, seeping out of the ground, the sky. It was hard to tell that Tom had been born of these lands, his midnight hair a harsh contrast the overdose of _white_, and yet...it embraced him, unfurling around him, cradling him.

"Is this Heaven?" My voice was a breathless murmur, but he heard it, turning towards me where I still stood on the tree. My delight, my awe (_my_ _fascination)_ was abhorrent as my eyes hastily captured all that was before me, fearful that it should vanish—for such beauty as this...it could not last.

But..."Yes." Yes. _Yes_. This was real. This was reality. "This will be your home now, Harry, I am sure of it."

I couldn't speak. I could barely _breathe_ at the prospect. "Tom..I..._thank you_"—My throat tightened as I tried to catch my breath "—I don't know what I would have done if you had not found me..." I turned toward him, my body shaking at the gratitude that was _seeping_ from my body in waves, unfurling around me as I strained to show him—to _tell_ him—

If I was drawn to him before, it was nothing compared to now. He, who had saved me, who had stolen me away from insanity_, _who had brought me _here._ If ever I had looked at beauty, it was today, in the presence of all this, in the presence of _him—_

And he was beauty. It went above his appearance, his painfully stunning appearance. It was his _aura_ that could shock me into silence, that _pulled _at my chest with it's utter impossibility. It was warm, almost to the point where it burned my hands—a delicious, sinful burning, that filled me—and I was looking at him, reaching for him, he was _home_—

He slowly made his way towards me, his legs covering the ground between us. And then he was looming over me, pulling my shaking hands into his, a dichotomy of stability against my quivering form. A light to my irreparable dark. We were a juxtaposition, yet...we fit. A puzzle. And I breathed him in_, _and he was warm, and good, and I_ yearned _to _**know **_him—

"You cannot imagine that I would leave you there. Especially now, after I have felt..._this_. As though you have carried a piece of my soul with you, and only now have I realized that it was missing. I want...I want to _know_ you, Harry. I want you to stay with me."

His voice was a soft tremor, but I heard it, and I _bathed_ in its cadence, its tone—its veracity. The similarity between our thoughts should have frightened me, intimidated me (_repelled me)_. Instead, I found only comfort (_serenity_) in the truth that, in this sense, we were parallel. In this sense, we were kindred, connected beyond our understanding, but still _connected—_

But he was pulling away (_always pulling away)_. He turned his head to the side, avoiding my eyes before whispering, "I don't know why I keep touching you..."

The urge to laugh at him was incessant, almost uncontrollable, and the sudden change of pace, of _emotion_, was leaving me reeling. All my emotions around him were _wrong_, as though my neurons were misfiring in the confusion of his presence, and yet, _inherently—_it was right.

"Tom, _I don't want you to stop_." This now left _me_ embarrassed. Such a confession, such an _admittance—_it pulled me into silence, my humiliation absolute at the slip of my tongue (_I didn't think, it just slipped out). _Feet pawing awkwardly at the ground, cheeks bursting with color, I hung my head. "Uhm...I mean...I didn't mean to say—" I bite my lip, cutting off my incessant rambling before I could stutter out anything else, but I couldn't contain my surreptitious glances at Tom (_why didn't he say anything)_. I could only grow redder as I noticed his lips twitching upwards, his fiery eyes dancing, as I shuffled my feet.

But pity was abundant, and Tom finally spoke, saying, "I should take you to see Father now. He will want to talk to you." He held his hand out to me (_had we formed a habit already?_).

"You don't—," My brain was still in my stomach, functioning at its lowest capacity (_and those eyes, crimson beacons, were distracting me)_, "I mean, if you don't want to, it's fine. I don't—"

"_Harry_. It's alright. Come here." His lips twitched again, fingers beckoned me once more, and I had to restrain myself from _flying_ to his side. The tug was still present, insistent and unadulterated, calling me to him. And I answered, slipping my fingers between his, Tom's warmth embracing me as we started down the path.

* * *

We were making our way toward one of the jeweled buildings, piercing the sky like a sword. Its surface was smooth, unnaturally smooth, like no gemstone I had ever beheld. Clear, and gleaming, and_ beautiful_. As we approached the doorway, I realized that there was a huge phoenix carved out of the building, positioned to block our entrance. It was immaculate, to the last detail. I could see the veins protruding from the its skin, its muscles tensed where its breath was captured, every individual feather raised and spread, as though dancing in some unseen wind. When we reached it, I couldn't help raising my other hand and resting it on its wing, feeling the grooves of the frozen creature.

But Tom had dropped me hand, and I jerked my head to find his gaze, my fingers tensed where they lay unused by my side (_hadn't he felt it too, that tug, that string)_. But he had placed his palms on the phoenix's face, staring intently in its eyes before he _**breathed **__**it to life**__—_and it was gasping, and color exploded over its skin, reds, oranges, yellows, and its feathers moved in tandem with the breeze that coaxed them from their cage, and it spread its wings, legs tensed as though to take off from the ground into the sky and _away_, but then it was moving aside, head bowed, revealing the open hallway behind it

Tom collected my hand, entwining our fingers as he moved forward, passing through the doorway and into the hall. But, I glanced behind me, a fleeting look that showed me the creature settling back into position, it's transparent, life-less physique returning, chasing away the color.

"Only the AEsir are allowed here, the Firsts and God (himself)," he said in answer to my unspoken question. "No one else has the power to move Fawkes, the guardian."

"The AEsir?"

"Yes, the first Angels that (he) created. The only angels to be brought into existence, instead of transcended from souls. The most powerful."

"Are you...are you an angel then?" My hand was playing with his fingers, inspecting his cuticles, his nails, his perfect pale skin (_and why was I so nervous)._

"Yes," he said, glancing at me, amusement clearly roaring in his gaze, yet his lips remained flat, and _why was that_.

"You said...you were the 'most beloved'," I said slowly, remembering his exact wording.

"I am the First. The Original. I am Voldemort." He'd said that before, but this time nothing shook, the ground didn't quake as he voiced his name. If anything, the walls reached out to him, straining towards him as the sound left his lips (_and what did that mean)_. "I will explain it more to you later, if that is what you wish. But, Harry." We had stopped in front of a broad door made of the same gleaming substance as the walls, but it wasn't clear or transparent. It reflected our faces, our matching hair, our eyes, his a flaming crimson, and mine a lively jade. We matched, we fit (_he was home)—_

"(_**He**_) is behind this door, and (he) is..." He trailed off, before starting again. "(He) is _consuming_. Do not... get lost in his gaze." And he was looking at me, and if (his) eyes were anything like Tom's than it was hopeless, for I was lost already, falling deeper and deeper into his burning crimson—

And he opened the door, flooding our faces with the light that erupted from within.

* * *

God was looking at Tom, their sparkling eyes meeting in silent conversation, (his) blue ones pushing with unfathomable force, pulling, and _pulling_, until they dropped to where our fingers still lay, connected, entwined (_together_).

Tom quickly dropped my hand, stepping to the side, distancing himself from me (_but, what? why—),_but then (his) eyes shifted to my face, taking me in, _consuming_ me.

(His) gaze made me feel cleansed, light, _weightless_. As though I was looking into time itself. And perhaps I was. (He) was many things, a dichotomy of existence: Life and Death, the future and the past, merciful yet firm; but, more than anything, (he) was _Light_. And I could feel it, all the multitudes were in (his) eyes; the far corners of the Universe, the maker of Time (_the Creator)_ and I could bear it no longer.

But, even under (his) pragmatic gaze, I felt (his) presence, and with it, a full consciousness of spirit. I was wholly aware of myself, of what I was, who I was meant to be—there was _purpose _to my life once more. Where once there was only grey, now I felt reason, vigor, _color_. And, as I tore my eyes away from it's inferno, I felt a tug, a longing, _a need_ to be touched by those eyes again—to be focused.

_And I was afraid. _

I dropped my eyes, looking at the floor as Tom spoke.

"Father, _I greet you_," He said, kneeling in front of (him) and kissing (his) hand. "I have brought someone—a soul I found wandering in the Sands—Harry. I could not leave him there, cursed to an eternity of the grey wastes. I bring him before so you may accept him into your House, if that is what you wish."

I could hear the devotion and love in his voice as he knelt before God, but I dare not look to see if it was apparent on his face for fear I would be swept into (his) gaze once more.

"But," he murmured, almost as an afterthought, "I am sure he belongs here. I can feel it."

"You have seen many things, my son. And I have seen far greater, but I have never seen a soul with such Light." (He) stood, (his) presence a heavy weight on my mind as (he) moved from (his) position in the center of the room. "It billows inside her; can you see it?"

(He) was walking towards me. I could hear it. I could _feel _it, like poison on my skin, itching fervently as he closed the distance between us.

"How did you come to be here, child?"

(He) was standing in front of me now. I could see the bottom of (his) robes, ethereally bright, the individual strands appeared to be moving—dancing along (his) form. But now (he) wanted me to speak. But to speak would be to _look_. I felt faint just looking at (his) clothing—I could not fathom what the eyes themselves would do to me. But... I had paused too long. I had to speak—

—and the words were stuck in my throat, halted by my confusion, my _terror_. They came together in a clump and refused to move past my lips, to make sound. I don't know.I don't knowIdon'tknow_Idon'tknow—_

"_Harry_."

My head jerked up as his voice shook me out of my reverie. His tone was sharp, echoing along the halls in a round, melodious sound. The walls seemed to cling to the note once more—extending it, grasping at it. I wondered what he _was_ in this place that loved him so. What he meant. But he was motioning me towards (_Him). _

I locked eyes with him, and I was _bleeding _into them and shaking my head and trying to make him understand—to beseech him _not to make me look. (_His) gaze tore at the hollow part in my chest—it pulled—I could not bear it.

"Do I frighten you, my child?"

(His) words cut through me like a jackhammer, breaking my connection with Tom, forcing my eyes to the floor once more. Oh, how I longer to answer. Yes. _Yes. YesYesYes. _

The fear was suffocating now, clawing at my vocal cords, damning me to silence. My breathes were quick, barely filling my lungs as my body fought against the instinct to move, to _run—_

"Stop."

My body jolted as (his) hand grasped my chin, slowly forcing my head up, towards those eyes...And it _**burned**__—_like acid on my throat where (his) fingers touched me. I tried to scream, to cry out, but my jaw was locked. My body was frozen as I finally met (his) gaze, and I was thrust into oblivion.

* * *

When I opened my eyes it was to black, utter black save for (his) presence, it surrounded me here, swarming around my form with its invisible tendrils but, in this place, it brought no fear, no terror: _just silence _and (he) raised a glowing finger to his brow, and with it, plucked a strand of Light and it glimmered delightfully, like the fabric of (his) robes _a__nd I knew: __h_ere, I was omniscient, here, I was the darkness that encased (him), that bathed (him) _a__nd I knew__: i_t was his essence that he pulled with his hands, a piece of himself; the most sacred sight I would ever behold and (he) pushed it away from (his) form with a flick of his wrist, and it was coming towards me, it's light the most _wonderful_ sight I had ever seen, and I reached for it desperately and I wanted it, to hold it, to take it, to _have it—_and I cupped it towards me, it's heat filling me with delight as it squirmed towards my chest and it pushed, and pushed its way towards me, until it was entering my body, and I was filled with Light_, and I knew _this was the moment, this was my purpose, this heat, this goodness, this light_, I was __boundless_—I was _(__**His**__)—_

* * *

**a/n**: Again, the excerpt is from William Blake's _Auguries of Innocence_. I'm going to try and make the rest of the chapters around this length, but... that might not work out (sigh). Don't expect an update as quickly as this came. I've had most of this chapter written for awhile...can anyone guess who Voldemort's supposed to represent? ;)


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine."

Every corner of my mind was filled to the brim with mud—murky and _useless. _It dulling my senses to create an eerie void of silence, deep and dark, and endless. And yet, once there was Light (_I could remember)_. Once it blazed brightly, a pure, _holy_ Light, entering my chest and filling my whole body, every corner of my mind. The cavity near my heart was still warm from the piece of (his) essence that had lain there (_and had that been real)_. I felt somehow fuller, more at peace, as though I belonged here, as though this was my home—but _no. _Tom, _Tom_ was home. My body surged as I thought his name, that string pulling and pulling (_and where was he). _An echo flared, a memory, a dim tendril that flowed upwards. And I followed it, tracing its pale shadow as it sky-rocketed to the surface.

"—_what have you—is he—why did—" _

There. _There._ It was more than heavenly, a greater sense of purity and Light than even (_his)_ essence could provoke—his dulcet tones, wrapping around me, solidifying me. And I was swimming to the surfacing, dragging myself through the sticky haze around me, reaching for that voice (_his voice)_ until I reached the clarity of consciousness.

* * *

"I imagine he just had a strong reaction, my son. It is a strain upon the soul to have such power forced upon them. Severus preforms such a task at the moment of death, yet...it seems your Harry was never found." (His) voice gripped me with a command so insistent (_to_ _listen_, _to hear him)_ that it must have been engraved in my bones. And yet, it sparked no fear, no threat of madness. Merely a joyous sense of contentment. 'Your Harry.' '_Your Harry_.'

"How could no one feel him passing over? How could they _miss _him?" My soul squirmed in delight as his voice sounded over me. It tried to reach him, straining at the bonds of my body, wanting to _pull_ him towards me. But I was placated by the touch of his hand, its warmth spreading across my brow as he stroked my forehead. "_It is a wonder he did not go mad..._"

"Take care, my Morning Star, he is found now. He is safe in my House, and shall remain so. I find it curious, however, that you take such an interest in him. I must admit, I haven't seen you quite so..._attached_ to something since you discovered Middle Earth." (He) paused here, as though to let (his) words sink in, gripping their hooks into Tom before murmuring, "When you first walked in, you were holding his hand, were you not?"

"...Yes." His voice was strained, his fingers tensing on my skin. I could hear the frown in his voice. Was he ashamed of it—being so "_attached"_ to me?

"And in the Sands—they are an endless, grey terrain of madness. Many a thing has been lost to their depths, and yet you found him. So quickly, so _effortlessly_. As though he called you to his side. I find it curious indeed, my boy."

"Father, I don't...It's as though there is this string, _pulling—" _His speech was hurried now, his lack of understanding spurring his words to quicken, to race (_he said it, he felt it too)_. But his hand was dropping away, forsaking it's task, and I whimpered softly, trying desperately to lift my head, to follow that _wonderful_ hand. Suddenly it was back, pressing against my skin intently, fingers scraping through my hair—

"Harry_. Harry." _It was calming to hear his voice addressed to me, his soft timbre illiciting a shiver down my spine. My eyelids lifted, a deep longing to look upon his face calling them to action as he murmured so softly (_so lovingly_). "_Harry."_

His face was the picture of blank apathy, as though emotions were beyond his grasp. But the strain, the slight panic I had heard in his speech could be seen in his eyes—their swirling masses a little too wild, a little too agitated to fit the forced calm of his body. But there was something _else_, some other emotion that I couldn't quite define and once more I was reminded that (_I didn't know him)_.

"Tom." My voice was thick, my throat clenching halfway through, making his name little more than a choked noise.

Apparently, however, the lack of understanding was on my side alone because he was looking at me, eyes darting across my face before he said softly, "You were listening."

Color flooded my cheeks at an impressive speed and I was rendered speechless. Because _of course_, he would see, _of course _he would know that my eyes had none of the grogginess of unconsciousness. Too much longing and not enough confusion. _Of course _he could read me like a book after so little time, while I was still forced to wonder about his enigmatic phrases, his puzzling eyes, and his twitch of a smile.

"I...I just wasn't ready...to open my eyes yet," I admitted, feeling pathetic. And yet...I wish I had. Everything seemed brighter (_lighter),_ as though my eyes had only now adjusted. A whole new world lay before me, somehow more wondrous (_magical)_ than the one before. I could discern the different luminous tendrils that billowed from Tom's skin. I could see the few strands of brown in his hair and that small fleck of grey in his eyes, like the cold side of a burning ember. The building itself seemed more alive, it's walls moving slightly, as though vibrating to some mysterious melody.

"_Tom_ did you say?"(He) had come up beside us, and my eyes felt unwittingly drawn into (his). I could fall into them, get lost in their blue depths, and yet no madness befell me. It felt..._right_. As though I could only now comprehend that _this was my maker._ Tom had swung his head around to look at (him), looking slightly perturbed as (his) blue eyes twinkled wildly. "Interesting."

"You know my name holds too much power in the other planes. _You_ gave it to me."

"That I did, my boy, that I did." (He) smiled at Tom, a fatherly smile, full of love, pride, and adoration. _The most beloved _indeed. And then (he) turned back towards me. "Now, Harry, it appears that you have come to us destined for something greater. Indeed, I believe there is a reason for your vanishing after death, and for your overabundance of _light_. As it were, The Path of Ascension appears to be the logical choice for you. This rotation of students have already begun their classes, but you shall have little difficulty catching up. In any case, Tom is to be assigned as your mentor, and shall clear up any questions you should have. Now, pip pip, my boy. Off you go."

And with that, he exited the room, his slithering robes cascading around him in dramatic flourishes before he was gone from my sight.

"..._What?" _I turned helplessly to Tom, my mouth gaping at the amount of confusion that was tumbling off my body in waves.

"The Path of Ascension is what I described to you earlier. When angels are transcended from souls, there is a school to prepare them for the task. It teaches you all the necessary skills for using your Light. It is...a rare honor."

"Oh." _What?_ "Is that...he wants me to become an angel?" An _angel._ "Does he really think...I can do it?" My tone was filled with disbelief. I couldn't possibly...

"_Harry,"_ he hissed harshly, trying to break through my thought, to get my attention. And it was easily done. _He_ was perfect, _angelic_. I did not need to see him vanquish demons to understand that. His power exuded from him in droves, his Light lite the stars. But me... "You do not see yourself clearly. You have such latent power. And the air, it calls out to you, the light holds you like an old friend, as though it knows you. You belong here. You were meant to become this." And he was stroking my brow as he had before, scintillating touches that made my eyes stutter closed. "_Do not doubt it."_

"Ah." But I could not believe it. That I would be the same as _him_. Angels—the purity of world. How could I become such beauty? Yet... "A school?"

"Yes, Hogwarts." And he was studying me, as though trying to discern if I believed him, if I _understood. _"Today's classes have only just started. We can sit in on one, if you wish."

"That would..._yes_. That would be...good." _I think._

"We should apparate, then. So we will not miss the lesson."

"...Apparate?"

And he looked...mischievous his eyes glimmering sporadically, and he was holding his hand out toward me. I was reminded that he had stopped touching my face, and that _need_ had returned (_that string)_ and he was murmuring, "Come here."

I walked the scant few steps between us, taking his hand. And he was pulling me close. His robes were cold, tickling my cheek, and he smelled like embers (_fire)_, and something else. I buried my nose further into his chest, trying to discern the scents—something earthy and...Light? And the world was shifting as a prevalent _crack_ sounded through the room.

* * *

When everything stopped spinning, we were in a different place. A hallway of some kind, made of something akin to stone. There was a door in front of us, and the quiet murmurings of a lecture filtered through, into the hall.

I was a second away from being violently spewing the contents of my stomach along the floor, my legs threatening to collapse underneath me. I was still clinging to Tom's robes, trying to stave off the inevitable fall; my fingers no doubt wearing holes into the silky material.

"It is common to feel lightheaded at first." I could feel his voice rumbling in his chest against against my cheek. "It will pass in a few moments." I sagged into him even more, resting against him and _breathing_ him in. His scent was calming, soothing my aching head and sloshing stomach, and...

"I'm ready." My voice was quiet, but firm (_resolute)_. And I pulled away from him, my knees locking underneath my weight, barely managing to keep me upright.

Tom raised his eyebrows at my trembling limbs, before raising his hand and knocking at the door.

"Come in."

* * *

We entered the classroom to a dim hush, the people within having quieted at Tom's knock.

I thought I would be happy, joyous (_exalting)_ to see people after so long in solitary torment. And yet, in that moment, it was nothing less than _chilling. _After so long with just Tom by my side (_and (him), but he was within me now, always with me, creator)_. But, it wasn't long at all. A few hours, a day. Did it matter? He was enough. He was _home_. I wanted no one else.

All their heads were turning towards us, like a pack of vultures, moving in tandem. Some excitedly whispering—"_It's Voldemort!"—"I've never seen him so close before!"— "Is he teaching a lesson?"—_They were fanned out, grouping together in small clusters like a pack of hyenas (_too close—too loud—too much)._

I was shaking, a slight tremor lacing through my frame at the high-pitched, sibilant tones of their whispers. My knees were still weak from apparating_, _and Tom had long since let go of my hand, leaving me unsteady, and _cold_. And they were staring at me now, the weight of their eyes pushing down on me, until my knees trembled. I shifted backwards until I was beside Tom, my side brushing against his with every subtle quake of my body.

The small touch at my back startled me, but, upon realizing its source, I shifted towards it, curling my spine around the digits, the heat from his palm soothing my skin. His touch was pulling me in (_pulling me_ _back)_, and my heart slowing, my tremors ceasing, leaving behind only wayward shivers (_he was home). _

"Did (he) send you, Voldemort?" Her's was not a whisper, but a broguish question holding none of the childish awe that had been so apparent when the others had uttered his name. She was an elderly, severe woman, who loomed over the people gathered around her form, the rank she held over them clearly evident.

"Yes, Minerva," his soothing, cold voice slithered over me (_pulling me back)_, "We have one more for you." Here he paused, his long fingers pressing into the center of my back and _pushing _me before him. Her face now shifted to me, her narrow, lined eyes peering over her glasses, and cutting into mine. I immediately turned my gaze to the wall behind her (_and I had to stop doing that_). "This is Harry."

The quiet murmuring had picked up again as he voiced my name, and Minerva's hawk eyes swung around, pinning her students to the floor until they quieted down again. "The year has already begun," she said, addressing Tom critically, "They've already learned most of the theory, and today we'll be moving on to the practicals. Surely (he) must know that. He won't be able to keep up!"

"I will be mentoring him." No sound followed this. Everybody seemed to be holding their breathe. And again I wondered what he _was _in this place (_but I knew, the First, the most powerful, beautiful, beautiful Tom)_. Their attention seemed to shift to me once again, as though I was supposed to follow his declaration with one of my own.

"Uhm...I'm Harry," I said, timidly, grasping at the back of my neck as I addressed the watchful eyes of the classroom (_come on, you've done this before)_. "Harry Potter." But wait. Tom had already said that (_pathetic)._

Minerva was glancing at me again, leering over the frames of her glasses as though I was an insect (_pathetic, pathetic, pathetic)_. "Well then, Mr. Potter, as it seems to have already been decided, please take a seat at the back. Feel free to merely listen during this lesson. I'm sure your..._mentor_ will explain all the necessary details for class tomorrow. Now, to continue—"

And everyone was turning away from us, gathering into a row in the center of the room, facing Minerva. The weight of their gaze finally lifted, and I could _breathe_. Deep, cleansing inhalations that washed my system of the panic that had almost overwhelmed it not moments before. I started to move towards the small cluster of chairs in the corner of the room that she had gestured to, away from prying whispers, and watchful eyes. But as I glanced to my side, I saw no gleaming red, no billowing skin. Tom was still at the door. Why was he...unless—

"...Tom?" My voice was a faint whisper as I looked back at his form, still unmoving within the doorway. Was he leaving me here? (_shock, terror, abandonment) _"Are you—" No other words came out, and I had to swallow, distilling the croak that had formed in my throat "—Are you staying?" I tried to keep the _whine_ out my voice, but I undoubtedly failed. I had known, of course I had known, that we would have to part eventually, but...not here. Not..._now._ And that string was pulling, as though anticipating his removal, tightening and _tightening_.

"I will stay, if that is what you wish." And I was nodding hurriedly (_excessively_), reddening slightly at my overenthusiastic response but (_he was staying)_. I slowly turned around, continuing on to corner, trusting that _now, _ he would follow, and I carefully sat down.

The sound of his footsteps was beautiful. And I was grinning like an idiot, a broad, radiant smile because (_he was staying, I was still home)_. He gracefully flowed into the chair beside me, his limbs moving with a fluidity that only water should possess.

His robes suited him. A mass of black that pooled around his frame like a lover, lending itself to his sweeping movements, blending in with his meticulous raven hair. But his cool tones washed over me once more—"Perhaps you should listen to the lesson," he said, but he was smirking at me, that playful tug of his lips, "No doubt, there will time to stare at me..._later._"

My head whipped around to the front of the room, blushing all the way to my roots at the playfulness of his tone. I rubbed at the back of neck, trying to resist glancing back at Tom, embarrassingly aware of the scant few inches that lay between us. But I headed his advice, and attempted to get lost in the rolling Scottish sounds of Minerva's lecture.

* * *

"—is one of the more advanced skills, which you will be learning in the next level. But the exercise itself will be useful for the other skills we will be covering in this class. It is important to learn the steps, even if the power eludes you for today. We will have two more weeks on this unit, so don't worry if you don't grasp it entirely this week."

"What is she talking about? What _power_?" I whispered, leaning toward him slightly so my voice would carry.

"Finding your Light," was his murmured reply, his hushed tone tickling at my ear.

"(He) talked about that as well. _Light. _What is it? Why is it so special?"

"It's the foundation of Heaven. Every soul has a small amount of it, which makes it harder to tap into at this level. But you...have more than is common. It should be easier for you than most." Perhaps that was what billowed beneath his skin, what lite up his face. Was that what connected us? What _pulled_ at my chest? Was that Light?

"—_just as we discussed yesterday. Now, pair off and start going through the steps. If you forget one, refer to your books, or come and ask me_." Minerva's voice droned on in the background, but I was curious now (_fascination)_.

"Will you...Will you show me how? To find it?" He turned fully toward me now, his eyes studying mine, digging into my retinas as though searching for some secret (_but I was just curious, how did it feel, how did it move)_.

"Alright," he breathed, finally blinking, breaking our eye contact. He stood, his robes washing down his body, illuminating his broad shoulders, his trim waist—"Stand up."

I jerked as he spoke, pulling my attention away from his frame. I grasped at his proffered hand, and let him pull me to my feet, a little weak at the knees.

"Now...turn around, and close your eyes."

I could feel him behind me, breathing hot air on my neck, ruffling the back of my hair. He spoke, softly, reaching for my hands, "Breathe more deeply." And I complied, my nostrils flaring as oxygen flooded my body. "Let the air come into your lungs...let it move through you..._hold it..._and release it." I could feel the tension leaving my body, sagging slightly into Tom's body behind me.

He was moving my arm up now, laying my hand over my chest, over my heart. I parted my fingers slightly, allowing his to fall through them, lacing into mine—"Feel your heartbeat," he whispered in my ear, his voice a low murmur, a quiet _hiss_. "_Relax_." His other hand had reached up, lazily running patterns along the side of my arm. "Listen to your breathe."

I could feel the air, ebbing and flowing like water through my lungs, and I was leaning fully against him, falling into him (_relax)—_"_Can you feel it_?"—his lips brushing against my ear—"_brimming underneath your skin?"_

And I could. Could feel..._something_ collecting inside me, pushing at my muscles, my skin, flowing in my veins—"_Yess."_ My reply was a sibilant hiss as I tipped my head back underneath his chin, grasping at his fingers, at my _heart—_

"_That is your Light, your power._"

His voice was in my head, talking within me, directing me, and it was brimming within me now, pushing against every surface, every opening, _straining_ to be released to _get out—"Let it out, Harry. __**Let it go**__"_—

My eyes shot open just as a beam of light erupted from my chest, and it was dancing around us, _curling _around Tom, as though acknowledging its master, lighting up his face, playing with the tufts of his hair (_and it was white and pure_ _and oh god was it beautiful)._ But then it was pulling away, piercing through the room (_racing, running)_ until it crashed into the wall and faded to nothing.

* * *

Silence followed my outburst. Deathly silence. The entire room had seemingly shifted, directing its stiff gaze solely on me (_but I did it_). Yet, I could not bring myself to care, to panic as I had done before. It had felt...wonderful, finding my Light. The way it had moved within me before erupting from my skin, flooding me with purpose, with strength—_magic_. My chest was still aflame from it's presence, much as it had been after (_he)_ had burned (his) essence within me. And I turned to look at Tom, wanting to voice my gratitude, my _joy—_

His face was strange. Somehow..._agitated._ He was looking at me, his eyes meeting mine in a deadlock, and yet, he did not see me. They were murky. The flames in his eyes were being blown by the wind, becoming dangerously close to extinction before rearing up once more. He seemed thoughtful (_puzzled, surprised_), as though he could not quite believe what had happened. But he had said (_it should be easier for you than most_). Why was he so astonished? What had I done?

"Well done, Harry." His voice was a low murmur, as though spoken as an afterthought. "You did well." And I desperately wanted to ask, to say _something_.

But others were approaching us now. I could hear their hesitant footsteps as they moved toward us. The first to step around Tom's form was a girl. She looked no more than sixteen, bushy brown hair springing from her scalp in frizzy disarray. Her face held an expression of deep fascination, as though she wanted to dissect me, piece by piece.

"How did you _do _that?" Her speech was hurried, excited. "Isn't this your first day?"

"Uhm." I didn't know what to say, how to placate her. Her stifling gaze was making me tense. "Tom helped," I finally decided to say, gesturing to the man at my side.

She had been resolutely not looking at him, as if he were some sort of basilisk, that to look upon was to perish. But here she glanced at him, her fascination replaced by confusion as she murmured, "Tom?"

And I remembered (_no one has called me that name in a very long time_).(He) had seemed intrigued as well. He was _Voldemort_ here. The name I could not utter in the grey sand for fear of it's power. But here...would he want me to call him that now? It seemed so...impersonal, so far away from the Tom that was mine, whose face I couldn't decipher, whose hand I longed to hold.

"Er...," was my intelligent response as I tried and failed to think of an appropriate explanation. I was saved, however, when a boy with bright ginger hair came stumbling to a halt beside the girl.

"That was _wicked_!" He didn't look at me as the girl did, like she was trying to bore holes into my head with the magnitude of her gaze. His eyes were filled with awe and amazement, as though I had accomplished some impossible deed. But...

"Uh, thanks. Really. But I didn't really know what I was doing. T..Tom—" I glanced at him as I said his name, checking to see an difference in his expression (_what did he want)_, but he remained stoic, his expression still thoughtful, _puzzled_ "—he talked me through it."

"But still, you must be naturally gifted. Harnessing your Light is one of the more advanced skills. We were just learning the basics today. You're Harry, right? I'm Hermione. This is Ron." She was still talking quickly, some of her words sliding together as she began gesturing to the other people who had started to crowd around us, presumably giving their names and other superfluous details—but it was lost on me in a sea of sound. I kept shakily nodding and smiling during her few pauses and breaks for air, but my mind was numb (_crowded)_.

I kept trying to catch Tom's eye, to show him my discomfort, so that we could _leave_. Eventually, after a few missed pauses, Hermione seemed to catch that my attention was...divided.

"_Oh_, well I bet that's a lot for one day," she said, smiling slightly as she started backing away. "We'll just...we'll see you tomorrow, Harry." She looked pointedly at her classmates, gesturing that they should scatter. Then she turned to the man beside me, bowing her head slightly and saying, in a shaky voice, "_Lord Voldemort_." He nodded in acknowledgment to her, not bothering to respond further. The rest of the class hesitantly followed suit, murmuring his title with childish awe (_and fear)_ before they scampered away, leaving us alone in our corner of the room.

And I didn't turn to look at him. I didn't want to see that lost expression on his face, and yet (_I had to know)—_"Tom. Is there...is there something wrong?"

"Ah." I could practically _hear_ him snapping out of his stupor. "No. I was...merely thinking about...something. I apologize if I have seemed distracted."

"It's fine. Really, it's just..." _God, _why was this so awkward? Here I did turn toward him, and he was looking up as I murmured, "What now?" And (_yes)_ he was looking at me. And he was _seeing _me, with eyes as bright as the sun. A slow smile crept over his face (_and I had forgotten his brilliance)_ and he hissed,

"_Now it begins."_

* * *

**a/n: **Sorry for the huge absence! I did say I take forever to write anything...The next chapter is in the works. Let's shoot for a month from now. I hope you enjoyed it!

Once again the quote is from William Blake's _Auguries of Innocence. _


End file.
